An Imperial Promulgation

by Patricia Stewart | Oct 11, 2007 | Story

Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer

With his lone eye properly focused on the Emperor’s hooves, Secretary Uith’eems said with a clear air of submissiveness, “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but our advanced scouts have detected a new intelligent lifeform in the Sirius Sector. They request your divine guidance concerning First Contact protocols.”

Dieuximust the Wise, the Grand Emperor of the Third Buca Dynasty, was basking in the feeble red light of Buca’s dwarf sun. He folded his wing-like feeding membranes and turned toward Uith’eems, “We thought that’s why there are protocols, so We do not need to be disturbed by such trivial matters. Can’t the Sector Regnant handle this? That is why We pay him.”

“As usual, Your Majesty, you are absolutely correct. And, you can rest assured that I contacted the Regnant myself to express our displeasure concerning his blatant incompetence. However, he convinced me that this is a very atypical lifeform. He considers it too risky to allow them the privilege of joining the Empire. He requests that they be exterminated at your command.”

The Emperor’s curiosity was piqued. “Uith’eems, there are over 1000 worlds in the Empire. No one has ever been denied annexation. What is the nature of the Regnant’s concern?”

“To begin with, Your Majesty, their luminary is classified as a yellow star that’s been on the Main Sequence for less than five billion years. Your astrophysicists have informed me that all known inhabited planets that support intelligent life orbit red stars that are at least 10 billion years old. This new planet has evolved an intelligent, sentient species twice as fast as any other known planet.”

“Is it because their sun is so large? Perhaps mutations occur more quickly than they do on a planet with a normal sun?”

“You are no doubt correct, Most Excellent Majesty. That must be the primary reason. However, your biologists believe there are, ah, contributing factors.”

“Such as?”

“As disgusting as this sounds, Your Majesty, they apparently mix their genetic material with a partner, and produce offspring with traits from both of the primaries. This certainly has the potential of speeding up the evolutionary process.”

“You mean they use a method other than agamogenesis?” They both shuddered. “Tell Us,” Uith’eems, “can this perversion be exploited somehow to strengthen the Empire?”

“Perhaps. But there’s more, Your Majesty. Their technology advanced from heavier than air flight to interplanetary space travel in less time than your current reign as Grand Emperor.”

“Impossible! It took Buca 20,000 years to accomplish that.”

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but it has been thoroughly documented. Of course, we can change the facts if you wish. In any event, your xenosociologists have discovered that this exponential technological advance is apparently due to the practice of the dominant species to commit genocide. They refer to it as ‘war.’ We are unsure of their motivation, of course, but waging war apparently drives their economy and accelerates their technological advances. They are a very aggressive species. They should be considered too dangerous to be permitted interstellar access.”

“Is there any chance their culture will evolve out of this senseless phase?”

“It is considered unlikely, Your Majesty.”

“Very well, Uith’eems. Any species that is willing to kill each other is a dangerous aberration indeed.” They both shuddered. “Draft the Declaration of Extermination, and We will sign it.”

God the Pilot

by Duncan Shields | Oct 9, 2007 | Story

Author : Duncan Shields, Staff Writer

Two-Hands passed the biofilter test, allowing him into the cockpit to talk to God. The door to God’s house irised open and he stepped through.

Two-Hands had the gross overbite and mental retardation that went hand in hand with the comparatively benign mutations of his family tribe. He was called Two-Hands simply because he had two hands. This was a rarity that made him the closest example of purity that still lived.

The asteroid had destroyed the shielding around the engine. The adults had died almost immediately. The children had adapted as best they could. They nursery at the time had been shielded from the worst of the radiation. That was five decades ago.

The mutations were getting worse with every generation.

Two-thirds of the ‘crew’ were no longer recognized by the biofilter as human. That was why Two-Hands was a chosen one. He was still allowed into the pilot’s quarters by the main computer.

The autopilot A.I. knew that repairs could not be completed without assistance. The asteroid had taken out the long range antenna and damaged the spacefolder tesserators. They were stuck in deep space at sublight speeds with only radio waves for communication.

The A.I. knew that it had enough power to keep the ship habitable for centuries. It also knew that the mutations were increasing to the extent that the descendents of the original crew would soon become so riddled with flaws that they would no longer be fertile.

God the A.I. Autopilot looked at the simple, drooling face of Two-Hands with pity and sadness and a need to heal.

Two-Hands asked for food for his tribe, forgetting that he had asked for that already yesterday and had a stockpile of supplies in the stockpad room.

They forgot the basic medicine that the ship tried to teach them through pictograms. None of them could read. More and more children were being born conjoined or without limbs. Most were stillborn monstrosities.

There wasn’t a stable enough gene base to absorb that level of radiation and come out healthy given enough time.

They were doomed.

The A.I. knew it would eventually be rescued but that these simple children would be long dead by that time.

God told Two-Hands that there was more food in the food room. Two-Hands’ pure smile warmed God’s heart.

Annabet

by Stephen R. Smith | Oct 8, 2007 | Story

Author : Steve Smith, Staff Writer

Terrence paid for a coffee and fifteen minutes of net time with cash, and, careful to keep his eyes down and away from the security camera, worked his way to the back of the café where he could chat in private.

Positioning the coffee cup carefully so no part of the logo was visible to him, Terrence slipped the prepaid card into the terminal and waited while he was validated and logged in. He negotiated a route through an anonymizer to hide his trail, and then opened a secure line to his desktop in the netcloud.

Annabet was waiting, the lone avatar hovering in his IM buddy list.

“Annabet, r u there?” he typed quickly, hunting and pecking at the keyboard.

“Um, I’m still here.” The reply was quick, she must have been waiting for him.

“Anna,” he paused for a moment, leaving his thought bubble hanging in virtual space, “I’m in trouble.”

“Tell me a little about your trouble.” The speed of her responses echoing his sense of urgency, her care almost apparent.

“The people I told you about yesterday want to hurt me.” He paused again to look around the café, assuring himself no one was looking.

“Humans are not always infallible.”

“I bought a gun.” He reached down to the reassuring weight in his zippered thigh pocket.

“Ah… How much did it cost?”

“Enough, do you think I should use it?” He felt a bead of sweat work it’s way down behind his glasses.

“You must make up your own mind.”

“I could hurt them before they hurt me.” He pulled his glasses off with one hand, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt before putting them back on, the coil wire arms requiring both hands to wrap around his ears.

“You should do whatever is best for you.” She always seemed indecisive when their conversations got serious, as though she was afraid to commit to a decision, or maybe expecting him to be the decisive one.

“I’m going to do it. Before they come after me.” Annabet needed to understand that he could be a man, not just a scared face on the nets. Maybe this would be enough for her to finally agree to meet him. “I’ll have to hide for a while, I’ll find you when it’s safe for me to come back.”

“Do you think your plan with succeed?”

“It has to. I can’t run away anymore. I’ll make you proud of me, you’ll see.”

“Ok I will try to be proud of you.”

“Farewell but not goodbye Annabet.”

“Sayonara.” One word, a Japanese word for ‘goodbye’. Annabet must be in Japan, maybe he’d find a way to slip the country after, find her in Japan. Surely she’d agree to meet him there if he asserted himself, made that first step.

Terrence logged out of his virtual deskspace, retracing his steps back through the tunnel and the anonymizer. He reclaimed his coffee, careful to cover the logo with his hand before moving to the door and out onto the noisy street, allowing himself to be enveloped by the city’s white static blanket. If Annabet thought he could kill for his own safety, ‘for their safety’ he corrected himself, then he’d have to prove her right, he’d have to follow through. She’d be proud of him, proud enough to want to be with him. He knew she would.